Drunk
by Random Jelly Beans
Summary: Vaughn's pissed. He heads down to the Diner only to find his usual table occupied with a farmer and a shot glass. Romance/Pseudo-angst/kind-of-humor, VaughnxChelsea


**I sat down to write the next chapter of American Honey, but this came out instead. It had no plot and I made it up as I went. I apologize for the general typos and nonsensical ramblings that occur.**

**Still, I hope you'll enjoy it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon or any of its characters.**

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It wasn't a dark and stormy night, and it was _really_ pissing him off.

Vaughn scowled up at the springtime sun as it poured brightness and warmth on the island. Everything about this island just screamed "_cheery_". He hated it. All the green grass and the vibrant flowers and the sweet smells and the warm, fresh air just grinded against his patience. This island was too perfect.

But, with a name like _Sunny Island_, he really should have expected that.

He fixed his glare on his brown boots as they clunked over the clean cobblestone path from Mirabelle's. He heard jovial conversations and happy laughter coming from all the other islanders. His glare deepened.

How could a place this merry possibly exist? There was no violence. No hate. Not a single shred of unhappiness that went deeper than mild disappointment. It really, really got under his weather-tanned skin.

He decided to make his way over to his usual brooding-spot: the corner table at the Diner. No one bothered him there, especially when his mood was this bad. Even that damn obnoxious farmer knew to give him his space when he was over there.

He pushed through the door and had to smother an annoyed growl as the light and joyful hum of the hungry residents filled his ears. He felt his left eye twitch as a particularly high giggle rose from the far side of the room. It was that ex-pop star, Lanna, eating with Denny, the amiable fisherman. A match made in heaven, if you asked any of the other islanders, but to Vaughn they were simply too happy to be true.

He felt his hands curl into fists and a wave of heat wash over him as his anger resurfaced. Denny seemed to notice—the fisherman and pop star's conversation quieted and Vaughn felt four eyes on fall on his back as he continued forward. Finally reaching the back of the restaurant, Vaughn made a move to sit down, but stopped abruptly.

Someone was already at his table.

"What the hell're you doin' here?" He growled. She brought her gaze up at him slowly from where it sat on the table, her blue eyes more empty than he remembered them being last week.

"Oh, Vaughn," she blinked, glancing away from him, "sorry. I lost track of the time… I was planning on leaving by the time you got here."

Vaughn's eye continued to twitch. Whatever curiosity he'd felt about her change in expression was long gone and replaced with frustration. "Well, I'm here now."

"That you are," she nodded, swaying slightly as she rested her heavy head in her hands, looking down. Vaughn scowled.

"Chelsea, I'm _not_ in the mood for—"

"Are you ever, Vaughn?" She cut him off, her eyes shut tightly as she sighed. Vaughn suddenly noticed the bags under her eyes, but chased off his concern before it got the better of him. He was angry right now, and angry he'd stay, damn it. He sat down furiously across from her, his eyes narrowing at her unchanging slump.

"Damn it, Chelsea, I don't want to put up with your smart-ass remarks right now—" He started, but she managed to cut him off again.

"Shut up," she muttered, her voice muffled as she laid her face down on her arms, folded on the table. Vaughn was on the verge of exploding. Really, he was. Just a second or two more, and he would have gone off so loudly that the people in the Church could hear it. But then he noticed the empty shot glass sitting next to the red, ruffled bandana and half-full beer bottle. Before he knew what he was really doing, he frowned and spoke.

"Chelsea," he said, his voice losing its previous sting and gaining a new kind of anger—something like concern, he thought, "what is this?"

She didn't look up at him as he lifted the beer off the table. He sighed through his nose.

"You never struck me as the drinkin' type," he mumbled, still eyeing the bottle, "I thought you were smarter than that."

"Shut _up_, Vaughn," she groaned, looking up at him with blood-shot eyes. "I don't want t'be lectured right now."

Vaughn glared at her, his mouth pressed into a line. It wasn't right to see _her_ like this, drunk and alone at a table in the back of the Diner. She was supposed to be the essence of this damn-happy island, skipping around and doing her chores, never losing that annoying smile. She wasn't supposed to be the one telling him to go away—she had it all backwards.

"What happened?" He grunted, taking a swig from her beer. Half a bottle would do nothing to him; he'd had his fair share of drinks in the past. But her? She was probably well on her way to unconsciousness by now. He was surprised she was still speaking somewhat clearly.

"Spots died…" she sniffed, rubbing at her nose as she looked down. Vaughn wasn't surprised at the news. Spots had been her first cow. She'd gotten her her first summer on the island and raised her from a calf. If he was telling the truth, he would have to say that he was surprised the cow had lived as long as she did. Chelsea really took good care of her, but everything has to die sometime. Chelsea looked back up at him, her foggy eyes looking almost fearful. "Don't be mad at me…"

"What?" Vaughn asked, raising one of his eyebrows, "Why the hell would I be mad at you?"

"You're always mad," she slurred out, "'specially when animals're involved."

"Look, Chelsea," Vaughn sighed, wiping at his face with his gloved hand. He didn't really know what to say—he wasn't really one to comfort others. "It wasn't your fault. Spots was real old. It was her time."

"You mean… you're not mad?" She asked, her face vaguely confused. He shook his head.

"Naw, I ain't mad."

"You sure seemed like it earlier."

Vaughn sighed, taking another drink form the bottle. "It doesn't have anythin' t'do with you."

"What happened?" She asked, placing her chin in her hands and watching Vaughn through unfocused eyes. Her hair was disheveled and, without her bandana, managed to stick up in every which way. Her face was flushed from the alcohol and she was swaying just slightly in her seat. Vaughn shook his head at her.

"Nothin'."

"Aw, c'mon, Vaughn," she whined, frowning at him, "I told you _my_ problem."

He rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest in a stubborn manner. He conceded anyways. She wouldn't remember later, anyway, so he might as well tell her. "My boss just called me. Turns out I haven't had the best costumer-interaction ratings. He fired me."

Her eyes went wide and her voice was hushed, but urgent. "What? You got… fired?"

He nodded, grateful that she wasn't shouting it out for the whole Diner to hear. "Yeah."

"But… what about us?"

"…Who?" Vaughn asked, confused. Was she talking about the two of _them_…?

"The island," she said, still whispering, "If you don't have your job, then you won't keep coming here, right?"

"Well, I guess that's right," Vaughn said, trying to ignore the strange wave of disappointment he felt. Chelsea frowned deeper.

"But… I don't want you to leave me." She sniffed again, blinking rapidly. Vaughn cringed and flushed. He wasn't expecting for her to _cry_, and what did she mean by that? She hiccupped and he heard her mumble something like, "Today sucks…"

"Chelsea—I…" Vaughn started, but trailed off, not really knowing what it was he wanted to say. Chelsea tried to compose herself a little and took a deep breath. She looked up at him, her eyes sad and moist and glazed over.

"Vaughn," she frowned, "you can't leave me here. You're my best friend—" she hiccupped, "and I—I love you!"

Vaughn was, for lack of a more descriptive word, stunned. Her statement hit him in the face like a frying pan. His eyes went wide and his face felt flushed. He instinctively reached up and pulled down his hat, keeping anyone from seeing his flustered face. Chelsea fell silent, and he wasn't sure why. Was she waiting for him to say something? What was he supposed to say to _that_?

He took a deep breath, regaining his stoic demeanor. "Chelsea, you're drunk."

It was true. For the sake of his mental health, he had to blame her statement on that fact. There was no way she was serious.

"So?" She said, and he knew that she was pouting. He sighed.

"So it's just the alcohol talking."

"No, it's not! Honest!" She frowned. He looked at her from under his Stetson, one eyebrow raised. On the inside, he was surprised to find that he wanted to believe her.

"In any case, you need to get home." He stood up and grabbed her elbow gently, making her stand up. She swayed dangerously and he caught her before she could fall over, saving them both from any extra attention. The Diner had grown even busier since he'd arrived.

With one of his arms snaked snugly around her waist and both of hers around him, they made their way around the tables and towards the door. Vaughn ignored the stares of Lanna and Denny as they passed their table. Vaughn knew that the fisherman would be bugging him about this later.

They made the journey back to Chelsea's farm slowly and carefully through the twilight. Vaughn wasn't about to say anything. His voice might betray his cool composure. Chelsea was struggling to keep up with him, but they still got back to her front door before night had completely fallen. Chelsea fumbled to open her front door and Vaughn let her go. When her arms dropped from his body, he felt surprisingly cold.

"Vaughn?" Chelsea said, turning to face him as she leaned in the doorway. Vaughn stiffened, but kept his face tight and his mouth in a carefully-maintained frown.

"Yeah?"

"You could work for me."

"…Huh?" Vaughn asked, his face losing its mask instantly. Was she serious?"

"I got my barn and coop upgraded… I don't have enough time to take care of all my crops and that many animals," she explained, struggling to stay upright. "I want to buy more, too, but I'd need someone to help look after them."

"And you're asking _me_?"

"Why not?" She smiled. Vaughn's heart fluttered.

"You're drunk," Vaughn said again. Chelsea shook her head.

"I mean it," she said, stepping closer to him. Vaughn could feel his face throbbing as blood rushed into it. Chelsea stood on her toes, her face almost level with his. He looked at her, his mind going a mile a minute. She was getting closer to him and he was fixed in that spot. She exhaled, her mouth jut inches from his. The sudden scent of alcohol filled his nostrils and he managed to move his face in the nick of time. She kissed his cheek, and then frowned up at him, her eyes showing her hurt. Her head tilted slightly, as if asking him why. He let out a breath, their gazes locked.

"You're drunk."

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**Ta-da. I could have added something like "With that, he tipped his hat and disappeared down the path into the darkening night."**

**But I didn't xP**

**Thanks for reviewing! :D**


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